A Rat Of Junk
by sivsket
Summary: Though he's left the Outback, the Outback never left him. Junkrat has trouble fitting in with the agents of Overwatch, try as he might. There being omnics among them doesn't make it any easier either.
1. Peanut Butter Fudge

Under the guise of night, a lone figure lurked in the shadows cast after streetlights. He sprung across a lit path and pressed his back against a stone column. He leaned slightly to his side, stealing a glance from behind a corner. Two humanoid omnics stood guard at the gaping entrance of a large building.

He retracted his head and pressed a finger to a small silicone device in his ear.

"Winston," he spoke in a hushed tone.

" _McCree,"_ a deep voice on the other end greeted back. _"Anything to report?"_

"Turns out the lead had somethin' to it. Ain't no Talon, but seems to be Null Sector leftovers. Tracked them down to a candy factory."

" _A candy factory?"_

"Probably just the humble beginnings of a resurgence."

" _Hm. Do you need backup?"_

"Hey, if we had the manpower you'd have sent me with some. HQ's a ghost town, I bet."

" _A little lonely here, yeah,"_ Winston chuckled. _"I could go. Athena can watch over the HQ for a bit."_

"I appreciate the offer, partner, but ol' McCree's got this. Small candy factory, probably ten men at most. No problem at all. I'll see if I can't find you some peanut butter fudge."

" _Well..."_ A small pause. _"All right, but be careful."_

"Yes, ma."

He heard a small light-hearted snort before the communication device became silent in his ear. McCree snuck another peek at the entrance. This time he could see the patrols inside the factory—Exactly three of them inside. With the two outside, there was a total of five omnics to contend with near the entrance alone.

If he could just get them all in his line of sight, he could take them all out at once. From his current position, it was perfect. This would be easy. Too easy. McCree hadn't survived this long to not have developed some sort of danger sense.

Keeping his back to the wall, he quickly but quietly made his way to its other end. He checked behind the corner to see a dark, empty alleyway. He continued into it to arrive at a new, albeit a little further, hiding spot. He was to the right of the guards now, well out of their sights.

Amateurs. Never check their peripherals.

He skidded out of hiding and launched himself at the closest omnic, shattering its neck and head on the ground. The other omnic jumped and squeaked with shock—Definitely unused to combat. McCree swept his leg underneath the omnic. As the omnic hit the floor with its metallic back, McCree picked up the first omnic's rifle and jammed its stock into the second omnic's face. It buzzed erratically before becoming still.

Without missing a beat, McCree pushed himself up against the wall. He listened. Nothing but footsteps, steady and calm. He hadn't been noticed yet.

He gently pulled one of the fallen omnic's foot away from the entrance as he removed his gun from its holster. He tracked the movements of the three omnics, until all three of the omnics came within 5 meters of each other—An opportunity.

He turned on the ball of his foot to reveal himself in the middle of the entrance and fired three shots in almost inhuman succession. Three dead omnics fell to the floor with loud clangs. The sounds echoed in the dark factory. No doubt the sound would attract the attention of the rest of the guards. McCree braced himself for more omnic guards to attack him all at once. He found cover from behind a stack of boxes and waited.

 _BOOOM!_

McCree blinked. _Boom?_ He worried that the factory would blow up with him in it.

 _BOOOOOM!_

He heard the echoes of a maniacal cackle. It came from further in. McCree made haste towards the source of the voice.

"Piece of junk!" he heard the manic voice shout with gleeful disdain. "Off with your... with all your limbs! AHAHAHA!"

Amidst the conveyer belts and by the large taffy-pulling machinery were two men, one large and the other scrawny. McCree could tell immediately that the large one was a major powerhouse, taking hits like they were nothing more than insect bites. The scrawny one was... just as terrifying, really—throwing his bombs with reckless abandon. One exploded very near him and he did not bat an eye. No, in fact, he threw a mine to the floor, triggered it to explode _right underneath him_ , and propelled himself into the air to rain bombs from above. How he did not injure himself was a damn miracle and impossibility.

His descent started soon after. His peg leg landed on an omnic's detached chest plate, sending him slipping backwards. An omnic took this opportunity to smash the man's face with the butt of its gun.

With trained reflex, McCree drew his gun and shot the omnic through its torso, causing it to stagger sideways and fell its attack on empty floor instead. The scrawny man threw a grenade at the omnic before rolling away and climbing to his feet. Amber eyes turned to meet McCree's, confused and surprised.

The cowboy gave a small wave, hopefully received as a friendly gesture. The scrawny one did not respond, and instead tapped on his companion's back and pointed at the cowboy. The larger man only briefly looked at the cowboy before resuming the slaughter of omnics. McCree decided to make his way towards the duo, shooting down omnics that hindered his passage.

"Hey there," McCree greeted as he shot at omnic after omnic. "You two seem to be havin' a hog-killin' time."

"Oi!" the scrawny one yelled at him. "You lookin' for trouble?! Huh?! Talkin' 'bout killin' my pal Hog?!"

"So you're Hog?" McCree turned briefly to the larger man.

The large man grunted. "Not your business."

"I suppose it ain't, but I do have a proposition for you two."

"Oooh!" the scrawny one turned to the cowboy excitedly. "You need somethin' blown up, mate?"

The larger man swiveled around and threw a large— _horrifyingly_ large—hook in the direction of his companion. The scrawny one did not flinch at all as the hook zipped just a few inches above his head, piercing multiple omnics behind him.

"Talk later," the larger man warned gruffly as he retracted his hook.

The scrawny man pouted, but was more than happy to resume exploding more omnics. A little _too_ happy, but McCree wasn't going to complain. He was effective and seemed to understand how to keep his grenades away from friendlies.

Eventually, the last of the omnics fell to ground, and the scrawny man jabbed his peg leg through its face. A cackle of electricity erupted from the puncture. The man hissed and jerked his metallic leg away.

"Hoo-wee," the scrawny man shook his right leg a few times, as if trying to regain sensation. "What a doozy!"

The large man said nothing and made no gesture to indicate that he was communicating at all.

"Oh, right," the scrawny man said as if he was responding to something. He turned to McCree. "What can we blow ya' for?"

The large man smacked his companion across the back of his head.

"What the hell, Roadie?!" the scrawny man whined.

"Don't talk like that." The large man's deep, gravely voice was definitely as intimidating as his appearance.

"I asked him if we could blow somethin' up for him! What'd I say wrong now?!"

The large man sighed, head turned slightly to the sky in resignation. His companion crinkled his nose at him and returned his attention to the cowboy.

"Well?"

McCree was still processing the conversation they appeared to have earlier. While he stared, though, he realized these two looked familiar _._

"Wait a darn tootin' minute," McCree put a hand on his chin. His eyes widened. "Why, I know who you are! You've got 25 million on your heads!"

Immediately both of them raised their weapons. McCree put up his hands.

"Whoa there! If I was a bounty killer I'd have collected you soon as we finished off the omnics. Like I said, I've got a proposition for you two."

"We're listening," Junkrat drew out the syllables, watching McCree with narrowed eyes.

"I know what you've been up to—Stealin' pop from vending machines, breaking into people's homes to use the kitchen, kidnapping tailors to fix your clothes... Just tryin' to fill your basic needs, eh?"

Junkrat cocked his head to the side. He turned to Roadhog. Roadhog turned his masked face downwards, and the two locked eyes in complete silence for a full ten seconds.

"You offerin' a deal or something, mate?" Junkrat finally asked McCree.

"How would you two like to become Overwatch agents?"

"The hell is Overwatch?"

McCree was far too stunned by the question to answer immediately. Junkrat turned to his companion again, as if he'd spoken.

"Oooh! That Overwatch! Yeah, I remember now! I remember hearin' about you lot right when I lost me leg! Just like yesterday!"

Roadhog's head shook slightly, as if surprised by his companion's words.

"Yeah?" McCree looked at his peg leg. "Must be quite a story."

"Couldn't tell ya even if I wanted to, mate!" Junkrat shook the peg leg with a toothy grin. "I don't remember how I lost it!"

"But you just—"

"Yer wastin' our time, ya' yank! What d'ya want?"

"I... asked if you'd like to become Over—"

"Right! Right. Overwatch agents." Junkrat turned to his companion. "I don't care so long as I get to blow up stuff. And, honestly, I'm gettin' a lil' tired of runnin' around and sleepin' on the ground. What d'you think Roadie?"

McCree squinted, trying to find _any_ sign of communication from the larger man. There was no seeing through the lenses of the mask. He could find nothing, and yet Junkrat jumped with joy as if the large man had said something.

"It's _kinda_ like going legit but it won't be for some stinkin' suit _and_ these people are wanted just like us! Hm? Oh, that's a good point." Junkrat turned to the cowboy. "Oi, we can leave whenever we want, right?"

"Sure. Ain't like we got legal grounds or anything."

"Great! We're jus' gonna' gather up some taffy first, Roadie's been itchin' for 'em!"

"No problem. We'll go meet the shuttle in five."

The two turned towards the taffy and started to tear away chunks of it. They stuffed the candy into a burlap sack. McCree did not find the idea of sticky candy being contained in a burlap sack appetizing in the least. He turned his back to them and pressed a finger to his communicator.

"Hey Winston, McCree here. I've got bad news and good news."

" _Give me the bad news."_

"There were at least fifty omnics here. They couldn't have amassed a small army like that over short period of time. Think you gotta' up your intel game, Winston."

" _Oh... That is bad, bad news—Wait, fifty? All by yourself?"_

"That there's tied to the good news. Found myself on the same side of one Junkrat and Roadhog. You know them, don't you?"

" _Criminals. With a bounty worth 25 million. Yes, I know of them. Why?"_

"Well you know how we're... very lacking in manpower—"

" _Ah. You recruited them. Hm. Fine. We'll talk more when you get back. Shuttle ETA 10 minutes."_

"Thanks, Winston."

The gorilla wasted no time cutting off the communication line. McCree had a feeling his decision would take some convincing.

He turned to look at the two new recruits. Junkrat cursed, apparently his peg leg became stuck in the lump of taffy on the machine. He pressed his arm against the taffy to push his leg out, but now his left hand's sunk into the taffy too. He cursed again, louder this time.

Roadhog moved to put his foot against a part of the machine that did _not_ have any sticky taffy as leverage. With a strong yank, Junkrat's limbs were freed along with a large portion of the taffy. Roadhog put the giggling lanky man down. Junkrat dropped himself to the floor and gnawed at the taffy on his peg leg while his companion continued to rip off chunks of the taffy, stuffing them into the ballooning burlap sack.

"Hey," McCree called out to them.

"Yeah, mate?" Junkrat answered as he continued to gnaw on his peg leg.

"You seen any peanut butter fudge 'round here?"

McCree had a feeling his decision would take _a lot_ of convincing.


	2. Spaghetti Western

"Winston!"

The gorilla slumped his shoulders, turning his head upwards, silently mouthing _why._ He put the half-eaten jar of peanut butter aside and turned around on his chair. A woman clad in blue marched towards him, her clenched fists indicating this was not a visit of a friendly nature.

"He is incorrigible! Filthy! Foul! There is a disgusting lack of _order_ in every fiber of his being!"

Winston sighed, pinching his forehead. "What did Junkrat do this time?"

" _Oh_ , where to start?! How about the _mess_ he made in my work room?! It is in a disgusting state, Winston! I refuse to enter that room until it is thoroughly _cleaned!"_

"Yes, yes, I'll go in and straighten the furniture out." Winston hopped off his seat.

"You do not understand me, Winston! There is _spaghetti_ all over my work room!"

Winston froze in his steps. He turned to Symmetra with a raise of his brow.

"I'm sorry. Spaghetti?"

"Yes! I demand my work room be scrubbed _thoroughly!_ Perhaps burn the whole damn room! I don't care! It is filth just like him!"

"Whoa, okay, nobody's going to burn anything," Winston put up his hands. "I'll handle it. Maybe you could work in my lab meanwhile?"

Symmetra turned up her nose at the pile of empty peanut butter jars on a table. "I'll... pass. I will continue working in Mei's laboratory."

The woman turned with a click of her heel and left as quickly as she'd arrived. Winston grumbled to himself as he too left his lab, but not in search of Junkrat. No, _he_ wasn't going to talk to Junkrat.

He found the base's recreation room, and, sure enough, there was McCree lounging by the window, puffing a cigarette. The cowboy noticed him and waved his hand lazily.

"Good morning, my gorilla friend."

"McCree, I need you to talk to Junkrat about staying out of people's spaces. Especially Symmetra's."

"Aw, what'd he do this time?"

"I don't know, but it involves spaghetti."

"Spaghetti?"

"Symmetra found her lab in a mess, apparently covered in spaghetti."

"But why spaghetti...? ... Oh!"

"What?"

"Nothing," McCree leapt from his porch by the window. He put a hand on the gorilla's shoulder. "I'll go give the boy a talkin' to."

Winston opened his mouth to question the man further, but the cowboy skipped out before he could. Winston sighed. Something was up... but he had enough on his plate to worry about that. He still needed to make sure Symmetra wasn't going to set her lab on fire.

* * *

McCree thought of looking for Junkrat at the balcony, where Roadhog often was, but he had a hunch he might find better luck elsewhere.

As he turned the corner and approached a wide, opened doorway, he heard yelling coming from the cafeteria.

"You're a bully! That's all that you are!"

Uh oh. He quickened his steps and entered the cafeteria.

"Ay?" Junkrat cocked his head to the side. "You call _that_ bullyin', mate?!"

"Wh— _Yes_ it's bullying!" Mei looked at him with disbelief. "And don't call me _'mate'!"_

"I dunno, you're like half a syllable away from it. _Meeeei._ _Meeeeeei...ate._ Mate."

Mei groaned with frustration. She pointed at the floating omnic behind her.

"Apologize to him!"

"I think you mean ' _it'._ Also, no."

Mei was about to shout again when a cold, metallic hand placed itself on her shoulder, gently pulling her back. Mei looked over her shoulder at Zenyatta.

"This is not necessary, Mei. Anger solves nothing."

Mei frowned. Her cheeks puffed, withholding her words. She shot Junkrat an icy glare before stomping out of the cafeteria, giving McCree no notice on her way out.

Junkrat narrowed his eyes at the omnic.

"You wanna _go,_ you scrap heap?"

McCree quickly stepped between them. "All right, partner, that's enough. C'mon, we gotta' have a lil' chat."

McCree tipped his hat to the omnic. Zenyatta calmly nodded and gently floated his way out of the cafeteria. Junkrat crossed his arms and looked away, pouting childlishly.

"Now you wouldn't be lookin' like that if you didn't think you did nothing wrong, now would you?" McCree asked with a scolding gaze.

"Seems like I did plenty wrong this week," Junkrat dropped himself onto a chair. "Bound to have made another one."

"Well..." McCree glanced at the doorway. "What happened just now?"

Junkrat remained quiet. McCree stood in front of him, patient but just as stubborn. Junkrat looked at him. McCree responded with a questioning look.

After what surely was the longest period of time Junkrat had ever been silent, he slammed his hands on the table.

"You've got a bloody omnic floatin' about like it owns the place! What was I supposed to do, _let it?!"_

"Well, yes."

"No! Fuckin' hell, no! So I beat the shit out of it! Or at least I was _gonna,_ until Miss Freezey Pants froze me fun leg!"

"Junkrat, you can't—... Your 'fun' leg?"

"Oh, yeah, look. Decorate whatever I want with it. Fun, right?" Junkrat's voice was suddenly much calmer, sticking out his peg leg covered in ice. Underneath the block of frozen water, McCree could make out the outlines of stickers and doodles in black marker. Junkrat slammed his fist on the table again, his voice returning to its high-pitched loudness. "So I called her Miss Freezey Pants! She didn't like it, so I called her Yeti Face! I ain't never seen snow, I don't know how snow people talk!"

"... Snow people?"

"Well she's always wearin' that coat, right? Snow people. Cause it's always snowin' and cold for her."

"What in blazes are you talkin' about, boy? Mei doesn't wear a coat _all_ the time."

"Yeah she does! ... Does she?"

McCree exhaled tiredly. "All right, forget it. That's not what I need to talk to you about. I need to talk to you about _boundaries."_

"Boundaries? Oh, you mean like the thing Roadhog used to talk about."

"Uh... Maybe. What did he say about it?"

"Dunno. Wasn't really listening."

McCree noted that Junkrat said Roadhog _used_ to talk about it. Which meant whatever lesson the big man tried to instill into him, it resulted in failure. Not reassuring in the least.

"All righty then," McCree took a deep breath before making an attempt of his own. "Okay, Jamie, see, everyone needs their own little space to call their own, right? A little space that's theirs and it's their place, their rules."

"Yeah."

"When that space is invaded by something or someone they didn't _invite_ , it's mighty rude. You gotta' respect the person's place of livin', and they'll respect yours."

"But if they don't take care of their stuff, someone's gonna take 'em."

Something clicked in McCree's mind.

"This isn't Australia."

"Doesn't change the fact though. Me and Roadie turned our backs for a sec back in Dorado and _bam!_ Lost me favourite bag. The other guy lost his head, so it's even I guess."

"Uh... Okay, I'll give you that, but you're not livin' with strangers. You're with friends."

"Roadie's me only friend."

"Teammates. Comrades. Whichever works for you. Point is we're not going to turn on you at any time, see?"

"Listen, McCree, I like you an' all, but you're startin' to sound miiiighty worthy of suspect right now."

McCree figured that if Roadhog couldn't get respecting boundaries into Junkrat's head, he probably had zero chance to succeed. Still, perhaps it would be better to get the big man's advice on how to get through to the bomber.

"We'll continue this later," McCree quickly backed out of the conversation. "Stay put in your room. Don't go anywhere."

"You're not Roadie. I don't have to listen to you."

" _Fine,_ just don't get into any more trouble."

"No promises, cobber."

McCree shot him a warning look, for which he received a look of feigned innocence. The cowboy left the cafeteria, and chanced one last glance. Junkrat waved at him cheerfully. McCree pointed at him and narrowed his eyes, as if a warning to not do anything stupid, and left.

* * *

He found his way to the higher floor of the base, and here was a wide, open balcony that faced the beach. A large figure sat crossed legged on the floor, facing the beautiful, sparkling beach. A dirty cloth, cans of compressed air and a box of tools laid by his side, and before him were the disassembled parts of his scrap gun. On his other side, waiting close-by, was the large, sharp, horrifying hook.

Roadhog turned his head around to him.

"Howdy," McCree greeted.

Roadhog grunted and returned to his work without a word. McCree joined him on the balcony. The cool air gently brushed past his cheeks. The deep blue waters in the distance glimmered under the midday sun as it lapped over the white sandy shore. Caws of seagulls could be heard faintly in the distance.

McCree turned his attention to Roadhog. Large fingers dextrously worked and cleaned the delicate machinations of his unusual weapon. Perhaps it made sense for Roadhog to have such amazing finger dexterity—McCree found it difficult to imagine Junkrat working delicately on anything.

"What?" Roadhog finally asked.

"I wanted to talk to you about Junkrat."

Roadhog let out a long, weary sigh. He finally turned his masked face up at the cowboy.

McCree continued. "He's... Well, he's not acclimatizing very smoothly."

Roadhog snorted. "Not at all."

"Right. I figure you could help me with that."

"What'd he do this time?"

"Well, among _other_ things, he's taken his new obsession with spaghetti a _little_ too far. Now I don't regret one bit introducing the boy to good ol' spaghetti and meatballs, but it becomes a problem when he thrashes someone else's place with it without their permission. Not to say he'd get the permission, but that's the point I'm tryin' to drive home into the boy. Boundaries. Boy's gotta learn to respect boundaries."

"Give up."

"So I thought you—What?"

"He'll never get it. I've tried."

"Yeah, he mentioned it. He trashed your things too, huh?"

"I don't like people touching my things. He never learned. I gave up."

"So that's it? You didn't do anything about it anymore?"

"No. I gave up trying to teach him about boundaries. I learned to keep him occupied with his bombs so he'll bother me less. Whatever stupid thing he does, it's 50% because he's not working on bombs. Give the kid his own space to make bombs. 'Least he'll keep the spaghetti in one room."

"Ooh, I see now. He needs something to distract himself with. His own work room, huh? I'm sure Winston will be more than happy to oblige—"

"No. Make him work for it." Roadhog quickly added.

McCree put a hand around his chin. "Not a bad idea. Thanks, partner!"

"No problem."

Roadhog clicked the final part of his scrap gun together. He held the gun in his hands and pointed it at an angle towards the sky. He fired a shot, and it flew directly towards the white sandy beach—and promptly dropped at an arc. McCree heard a dull thud, likely that it fell within Overwatch grounds. At least it didn't hit anyone.

" _MY ROSES!"_

 _Oh mercy._

* * *

McCree leaned against the doorframe, casually smoking a cigarette as he kept a close eye on his charge. Junkrat grumbled to himself—He's on a streak of curses for an hour now—while he scrubbed at a tomato-covered spot on the floor.

"Heya McCree!" McCree heard the cheerful voice of Tracer behind him. "Oh! Punishment, huh?"

McCree nodded. "Of course."

"Can he clean my room next? He threw a spaghetti bomb in my room too."

"Seriously?" McCree turned to Junkrat, whose attention was caught at the mention of the word 'bomb'. "I thought you two were getting along."

"Oooh..." Junkrat looked away, embarrassed. "I thought it was the grumpy gramp's room. Sorry, mate."

"Grumpy gramps?"

"Oh, it was delicious spaghetti, love," Tracer said with a wave of her hand. "Bit of warning next time maybe? We'll take it outside, blast the spaghetti in our faces and everything, yeah?"

"Yeah!" Junkrat cheered at the idea. "Spaghetti launchers!"

"No!" McCree quickly stopped them. "No more spaghetti for you! Get back to cleaning!"

Tracer winked at Junkrat, promising to join him on his next spaghetti-based escapade. She beamed an innocent smile at the cowboy and promptly left. Junkrat giddily hopped on the balls of his feet. With a single look from the cowboy, though, he quickly returned to work.

While the bomber continued to scrub away at the lab, McCree wondered if they should invest in a heavy-duty lock and a blast door for the kitchen.

* * *

 **Hey everyone! Malaysia's ban on this site has finally affected me. I'm trying other methods to keep connected. Fingers crossed. Please see my profile for more info.**


End file.
